


A Matter of Timing

by taibhrigh



Category: Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-12
Updated: 2010-09-12
Packaged: 2017-10-11 16:52:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/114555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taibhrigh/pseuds/taibhrigh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ezra and Vin, a letter, and a bottle of whiskey</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Matter of Timing

**Author's Note:**

> written for LJ's writers_choice, prompt #203-clock

Ezra doesn't get drunk --not good for a man in his business. Plus, he's a spiteful drunk; lets his mouth bypass his brain altogether. For him to drink enough to barely recall our conversation the next day means he was depressed.

I learned this after his mother stole his dream. It took a lot for Ezra to decide to stay in one location and make a go of it. When his mother just swooped in and destroyed it, leaving town just as she had arrived, I think he only stayed in Four Corners because of his six friends. And because he didn't know what else to do.

He's changed a lot. I think we all have.

The second time I saw Ezra drunk had been when I wanted him to write something for me. If I'd known he'd been drinking that heavily, I wouldn't have even approached him. He's apologized several times since then. And has only gotten that drunk once more that I can recall, when Lutz came to town and it seemed that everyone thought he'd ride off with the money. I wish I had been less enamored with the gun and had noticed.

I've watched Ezra all afternoon. He's heading for the downward spiral to the need to drink. Both he and Chris have these clear signs that someone needs to be there or they're going to get themselves too drunk to care.

Ezra's spiral started when the stage and mail arrived. Apparently, Maude had wrote him a "missive" as I saw him flip through at least 3 sheets of paper before he crumpled them up. Only to smooth them out and begin reading again. At last count --as he crumpled and smoothed out twice more-- there were seven pages before he neatly folded the rumpled pages and returned them to the envelope. That's when he headed to the saloon.

That's when Ezra grabbed a bottle of the whiskey rotgut that he so hates and downed three shots before he even made it to the back table that Chris normally haunts. Since then I've watched him throw back another three and leave the fourth there ready.

It's time.

Vin slides into the empty chair next to Ezra. Takes the bottle, pours himself a shot and throws it back. And waits. He has more patience than any of the seven and it almost always pays off.

"Mr. Tanner."

"Ez."

"For a man who writes lengthy pieces of prose that allow others to participate in some portion of the passion or insight that has struck your fancy, you can be rather tight-lipped in actually speaking."

Vin only smiles.

"Use up your allotment of spoken words today?"

"Maybe."

"I see." And Ezra reaches for the shot glass.

Vin leans forward. "Only you can judge where and what is right for ya, Ez."

Ezra has the glass to his lips, but pauses. "Are you not wishing to know what my good mother has written?"

"Nope." Vin leans back in his chair and stretches out his leg. "Your business. But don't blame me when I punch ya and dump ya drunk ass upstairs when you get too far gone."

"Why?"

There are so many ways Vin could interrupt that question. He waits, slouching down into the chair and moving his hat to cover his eyes. "That's what friends are for."

Ezra lowers the glass back to the table. "I am beginning to wonder," he says, "if our little town is not fully seated in reality."

Vin smiles. He's wondered that a time or two as well. "Maybe," he agrees.


End file.
